Crossroads of Destiny
by KSCrusaders
Summary: Life goes on even in the midst of holy war.  A series of vignettes about endings, goodbyes, friendship, and love after the Gallows.  Without an end, there can be no beginning.  Lady Hawke/Anders


**The Crossroads of Destiny**

_By KSCrusaders (Sable Rhapsody on BSN)_

_Aveline_

The air burns in her lungs as they sprint for the guard barracks. Ash stings her eyes, and her head is still pounding from what has just transpired. But she matches Natale Hawke step for step, racing through the decimated streets. Any moment, she expects templars on their heels...but it seems even they have some measure of sense.

Civilians scatter in their wake. Screaming, chaos, a blurred sense of heat and smoke. She wants to stop, wants to turn around and help, but Hawke pushes her on. As she always has.

"Donnic!" Aveline yells as soon as they burst through the door into the Viscount's keep. "Maker damn it all, man, where are you!"

She sprints to the barracks, desperation and fear giving her a last burst of speed. She tears the place apart, and only when she feels Hawke's hand on her shoulder does she stop.

Donnic stumbles into the captain's office-dazed, bloodied, but mercifully alive. Aveline throws herself into his arms, for once heedless of decorum.

She doesn't hear the conversation between him and Hawke. This is the only thing she needs for now. Just a little stability. Just something to hold onto-

Another explosion from the street outside shakes her to her senses. Hawke makes her way to the window, her face pale and grim.

"Mercenaries," she says tersely. "Probably trying to curry favor with the templars." She places her hands on Aveline's shoulders, speaking urgently.

"You need to get out of the city. Take Donnic and run. Orlais, Ferelden-anywhere."

"Hawke, my place is-"

"Everyone I've known, everyone I've touched...as far as the Chantry's concerned, you're all complicit." And Aveline sees something like doubt...like regret in those steely grey eyes. She feels gold, twenty sovereigns worth, pressed into her hands and looks up blankly at her friend through a haze.

Their eyes lock, and for a brief moment, she sees once again the girl she met outside Lothering behind the cold facade of Kirkwall's apostate Champion. Then it passes. Hawke bows and draws her staff, making for the door.

Aveline starts to follow her out of instinct, but Donnic stops her gently. And for the first time, the Guard Captain of Kirkwall lets her walk away.

_Orana_

"Please! I didn't do anything! Please don't-"

There is a flash, then a searing heat, and the templar advancing on her in the estate foyer explodes into blood and dust. She screams as four more people storm through the estate's doors.

"Orana? Orana!"

She knows that voice, and she nearly collapses from relief. "Mistress?" she whispers, opening her eyes.

Gauntleted hands help her up, and she blinks up at their faces, trembling with fright. Mistress Hawke, Master Anders, Master Varric...and a strange young man in cold grey armor.

"Mistress, the templars came! I'm so sorry I couldn't stop them," she sobs. "The estate, all your things-" She gestures at the ruined and ransacked state of the place, tears flowing freely from her huge, frightened eyes.

"Shh...it's all right. Listen to me, Orana. Can you be brave for me?" Mistress Hawke's hand tips her chin up-she is smiling, the same gentle and twinkling smile she always uses. A little bit of warmth breaks through Orana's fear, and she takes a deep, shaky breath.

"That's my girl." She reaches under her armor and pulls out a large, ornate key. It flashes blue in her grasp, and she hands it to Orana, who accepts it with trembling fingers.

"This key opens up the vault under the estate." She speaks slowly, calmly, but Orana knows her mistress after three years, and she can hear the strain in her voice. "Go to the vault. Take the small silver chest in the vault, and follow the cellars to Lowtown. To Gamlen's house. Are you with me so far?"

Orana nods, hardly believing what she's hearing.

"Tell Gamlen and Charade that I'm sending you with them. All three of you are to flee Kirkwall, immediately. The gems in that chest will provide for you."

"Mistress-"

"There's no time to argue, dear girl." Shouting and the sound of metal boots on stone echo from outside, and the four of them round on the open door as one, weapons instantly drawn. "Run!"

She obeys on instinct, fleeing for the cellar under the estate. At the last second, she looks back, and is rewarded with a smile.

_Carver_

He really would like nothing better than to punch Anders now that they're clear of the city and in the hills. But he's too winded for even that. He leans on his sword, gasping for air after their frenzied flight from Kirkwall. Even Calenhad, the family mabari, lies wheezing at his feet.

"Bit far for you, old boy?" He leans down and scratches the mabari's ears, looking around at them all.

Merrill, Fenris, Anders, Varric...and Natale. Aveline is already gone, as are Gamlen and the cousin he never knew he had. Isabela's sailed away to Ostwick. He looks back at Kirkwall, at the red pall still hanging over the remains of the Chantry. His eyes fall on Anders, who looks away.

"Drop it, Carver." Natale steps in between the two of them, arms crossed. And Carver is seized with the sudden urge to laugh. Even now, after all these years, she's still his stick-in-the-mud big sister. But the situation is deadly serious...and Carver is pissed.

He steps around Natale and looms over Anders, who is sitting in the grass, looking blankly at his hands. "Were you always intent on ruining my sister's life?" he demands.

Anders looks from him to Natale miserably. Then finally, he gets to his feet and looks Carver in the face.

"I have loved your sister from almost the moment I laid eyes on her," he whispers. "I know it's not enough. But please believe me when I say it's true."

And against his better judgment, Carver believes him. He shakes his head and turns away in disgust, but he doesn't throw a punch, no matter how badly he wants to.

"Carver...you should go back to the Wardens," says Natale once he and Anders have both cooled down again. "They'll protect you from the templars."

He grins ruefully at her. "So eager to be rid of me? I see how it is."

Maybe once upon a time, it would've been a harmless quip. But instead of retorting, she pulls him into a very uncharacteristic hug. He pats her on the back awkwardly, fighting back tears he tells himself aren't there.

She's still his sister. His overbearing, overshadowing, infuriating sister. But this time, she's telling him to turn his back on her, to leave her nothing but her wits and magic to defend her from the Chantry's wrath. It's almost more than he can bear. But she's also right. She's always right.

There are no words. A nod, a last glance, and he's gone.

He doesn't look back. And he knows she's proud of him for that.

_Isabela_

Hawke pulls through. Hawke always pulls through.

She has to keep telling herself that, day after day, week after week, as she waits for them at the port in Ostwick. She has to convince herself that she didn't leave her friends to their deaths when Hawke told her to drop anchor and meet them here. No faith in herself, but she does have faith in Hawke.

And the day her friends walk into the Salty Wench tavern by the docks, drenched from head to foot by the raging thunderstorm outside, is the happiest day of her life. Isabela leaps to her feet, hands on her hips.

"What took you so bloody long?"

They all look exhausted. But even Anders manages a chuckle at the look on Isabela's face.

"Templars are inconvenient, Rivaini," says Varric. "Now get me a damned beer."

For a few glorious hours, it's just like old times at the Hanged Man. Varric filling her in on their flight, Fenris nursing a drink in the corner, Merrill giggling at Varric's antics, Anders with his arm around Hawke in a large armchair. But their weapons are close at hand, and Hawke's eyes keep darting toward the door.

It will never be like it was before. And when Hawke's eyes take on that particular gleam, Isabela can't help herself.

"Come with me," she says, trying to head off what she knows her friend is going to say. "It'll be fun! You'd make quite the pirate. It's even a step up from being Champion of Kirkwall."

Hawke laughs. "Incorrigible to the last, Isabela."

"It was worth a try." She drains her drink and throws up her hands. "Remember what I said about good intentions and not having them?"

"How well did you take your own advice?" That gets a laugh out of Isabela, who calls for another round. She can see all too well the dark and dangerous path before her friend. But as always, it's her job to make sure that Hawke laughs, smiles, and gets drunk. One last time.

_Fenris  
_  
"I didn't imagine you for the seafaring type."

"Neither did I." Fenris looks nervously over his shoulder at Isabela's ship docked in the port. "I'll never hear the end of it from her."

"Hurry up!" calls Isabela from the other side of the water. "Don't tell me you're getting all sentimental on her?"

That's exactly what he's doing, and he doesn't really want to. So he bites back all the things he might have said. There's no need to anyway. He locks eyes with Hawke, and he can tell that she already knows.

Had someone told him six years ago that an apostate maleficar would become one of the most pivotal people in his life, he might have killed them for the gall. But there's no denying that now he has to part from the woman who turned his life inside out and upside down...for better or worse.

So instead, he looks beyond her to Anders. "You have a lot of making up to do," he says. "Break her heart, and I'll do more than just break your legs."

"I'm making up to her, not you," Anders replies coldly.

"Can we stop talking about me as though I'm no longer here?" says Hawke sharply. "Go on, Fenris. You don't want to keep Isabela waiting."

He knows nothing he says will change her mind, and he's not going to try. They're both too stubborn to yield. But he does take a moment, with one foot on the plank to Isabela's ship, to ask her why.

For as long as he lives, he will never forget that wry smile. She looks him dead in the eye and whispers, "Sometimes, you must turn and face the tiger."

Words fail him. Just when he thinks he'll never understand her, she goes and does something like that. But then Isabela's yelling at him to get on board, Hawke is turning away with a smile and a wave, and before he knows it, he finds himself drifting off into the unknown, for a second time.

_Merrill_

This time, she won't make such a mess of her life.

It takes them a month to find another Dalish clan...made worse by Merrill's atrocious sense of direction. And now, with the smoke of their encampment visible over the hilltop, she finds herself as nervous and afraid as the day she first met Hawke.

The faces of her clan swim before her eyes. And the Keeper's face looms the largest of all. Merrill closes her eyes and wrings her hands. She can do it this time. She's seven years older, wiser, and she has seen more with Hawke than most Dalish see in a lifetime.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Merrill opens her eyes and smiles. "No. I appreciate all you've done for me, but I need to do this on my own. You'll understand?"

Hawke nods. She then opens her palm and holds it out to Merrill.

The arulin'holm glitters in the evening sun, and Merrill feels tears come to her eyes.

"This belongs to you," says Hawke gently. "To the Dalish."

Merrill takes it and tries not to stab herself as she tucks it into her belt. "It's funny," she says, her voice shaking. "When I wanted it, I would've done terrible things with it. Now that I don't want it, I might be able to use it for some good."

"That's how life goes, Merrill," says Hawke, her hand brushing the top of Merrill's head. "You should know that after all the trouble we've given each other."

Merrill giggles. "Don't suppose I'll ever meet anyone quite like you again, lethalin."

Hawke chuckles back and shrugs before giving the elf a gentle nudge up the path. "Go on...Keeper."

She's not going to cry in front of Hawke. Not again. But she can't resist giving her friend one last hug before she scampers up the path like a young halla. She turns around to look for them, but they've already disappeared back down the hill. She feels for the weight of the arulin'holm and smiles.

She's not alone. She's never alone.

_Varric  
_  
She indulges him for a bit, letting him make further excuses as to why he should stick with them. Anders' bad cooking, Calenhad's love of cards, the list goes on and on. It isn't until the first Starkhaven soldier lies dead at her feet that she stops allowing his bullshit and all but orders him to get the hell out of dodge.

The morning just before he leaves, he's writing a chapter of their story by the embers of last night's fire. Anders is still asleep, his head resting in Hawke's lap. She looks over at him scribbling away and smiles.

"Penning our glorious finale?" she asks.

Varric shakes his head. "I think...I think I need some more time before I begin working on that." He then brightens up and says, "No, this one's for you and Blondie."

She raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Varric..."

"Nothing horrible, so get your mind out of the gutter, Hawke," he says with a grin. "It's about when you nearly gave him a heart attack trying to heal Carver...poorly, as I recall."

Hawke chuckles and Anders shifts sleepily in her lap. "I'm better at killing people than healing them."

"Not going to lie, my friend. That's a bit creepy." Varric writes a bit more, decides he's had enough with beating around the bush, and puts the book away.

"Hawke, about you and Blondie..."

She looks tired, so tired from months on the run, but in her eyes still burns that fierce strength that's pulled them through thick and thin. She sighs and starts winding her long platinum hair back into its braid. Anders turns over and mumbles in his sleep.

"This time, you get to say 'I told you so,' Varric," she says.

"This time, I don't want to." He gets to his feet, slings Bianca over his shoulder, and squares up for the road.

"Hawke...you'll make a mighty fine story, my friend." She laughs and reaches over to clap him on the shoulder. Neither of them like long goodbyes.

"And you're the only one I would ever have telling it."

_Anders_

The days are long and weary, filled with aching feet and new callouses and occasional stops for his magic to close their blisters.

The nights become cold, with the two of them huddling for warmth and waking covered in dew.

Sometimes, there's a barn in which to take refuge, or a cave. But most of their nights are spent under the open sky, underneath a sea of stars. Anders huddles down deeper into the bedroll and pulls Natale close. She blows on her fingers, and little bursts of warm air fill the bedroll.

"A kitten," he says sleepily, pointing at a set of stars to the south.

"You think everything looks like a kitten," she retorts, poking him gently in the side. She squints up at the stars and thinks for a moment. "I think it's more like a wolf. It's all pointed in the front."

"You're just not a cat person." He's about to say more, but then a streak of light, almost directly overhead, catches his attention. A fuzzy, elongated blob that wasn't there the previous night. He feels a shiver run up his spine, and his arms tighten around her.

She also sees the comet, and before he can say anything, she's kissing him, her hands fumbling at the edge of his undershirt. He pushes her away, looking stricken.

"Natale..."

"Shh," she whispers, placing a finger on his lips.

He hasn't dared say anything until now...not with Varric and the others around. And he isn't sure if she wants to hear it. But every time he sees her pale cheeks, the shadows under her eyes, the way in which she tightens her belt with a wry grin, he feels his heart break a little.

"Your life would have been so much easier without me," he murmurs. "I've cost you everything."

"Anders," she says, narrowing her eyes. "You're an idiot."

She cups his cheek in her hand, little tendrils of magic escaping her fingers. Exactly the way he touched her the first night he held her in his arms. "You gave me hope," she whispers, her fingers stroking his cheek. "You gave me love. Who needs estates or titles?"

And when she looks at him like that and squeezes his hands in hers, he finds it harder and harder to hold onto the guilt. He rests his head on her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart.

This time, he looks up at the comet without fear. At Calenhad, loyal and watchful for templars as ever. At the woman he loves with all his heart...who chose to stand and fight beside him rather than run.

There will be no peace for them. No compromises. And no turning back.


End file.
